1-3

by 太宰治

I received your reply promptly and enjoyed reading it. I imagine that once you enter high school, your studies will become demanding, so writing such a long letter must be difficult. From now on, you don't need to write such long replies. I'm concerned it might interfere with your studies.

You scolded me, saying it was outrageous to speak to Take-san like that. I am humbled. However, I cannot agree with the words, "I can no longer visit you." You are quite faint-hearted. If you cannot greet Take-san lightly without being bothered, you cannot be called a new man. It is important to abandon sensuality. Doesn't poetry say, "Thoughts are not evil"? Let's strive for innocence and spontaneity.

The other day, when I started to say to Echigo-jishi next door, "I have a friend who is studying poetry," Echigo immediately and roughly declared, "Poets are conceited." I was a little annoyed and retorted, "But it has long been said that poets renew language, hasn't it?" Echigo-jishi grinned and casually replied, "Yes. There must be new inventions now." But I thought Echigo also said something not to be underestimated. I'm sure you, being wise, have already realized this, but from now on, I hope you will show your true self as a new man, not only in your poetic training but in everything you do. I've said something strangely conceited and patronizing, but please don't mind Takesan. You should pluck up the courage to visit this dojo and take a look at Takesan. Once you see him in person, your illusions will quickly vanish. After all, he is splendid, like a large sea bream. Even so, you are quite infatuated with Takesan, aren't you? Even though I emphasized Ma-bo's cuteness so much in my writing, you said, "Ma-bo is like a failed movie actress," and refused to acknowledge it at all, constantly talking about Takesan, Takesan, which surprised me. I think I'll refrain from reporting on Takesan for a while. It would be terrible if you got so feverish over him that you became bedridden.

Today, shall I introduce some of Kappore-san's haiku? The慰安放送 (comfort broadcast) next Sunday will be a presentation of literary works by the塾生 (juku students), and those confident in waka, haiku, or poetry are asked to submit their works to the office by tomorrow evening. Kappore, as our "Sakura no Ma" representative, was to submit his得意 (specialty) haiku, and for two or three days, he had been earnestly contemplating verses, with a pencil tucked behind his ear, sitting upright on his bed, twisting his neck. This morning, he finally finished, and he showed us, his roommates, about ten haiku written on stationery.

First, I showed it to Koppan, who returned the slip of paper immediately, saying with a wry smile, "I don't understand it." Next, I showed it to Echigo-jishi and asked for his critique. Echigo-jishi hunched his back, stared intently at the slip of paper, and said, "Outrageous." I thought "outrageous" was a terrible critique, even worse than if he had said it was poorly done or something similar.

Kappore turned pale and asked, "Is it no good?" Echigo-jishi jerked his chin towards me, saying, "Ask your teacher over there." Kappore brought the notepaper to me. Being uncultured, I understand nothing of the subtle charm of haiku. I probably should have returned it immediately and begged for forgiveness, just like Koppan did, but I felt sorry for Kappore and wanted to comfort him somehow. So, even though I didn't understand, I read the ten haiku. They didn't seem that bad. You might call them commonplace or ordinary, but if one were to compose them oneself, wouldn't it be quite a laborious task?

The haiku, "Wild chrysanthemums blooming in disarray, maiden's heart," was a bit strange, but I didn't think it was so poorly done as to warrant an angry "outrageous." However, when I reached the last haiku, I was startled. I finally understood why Echigo-jishi was so indignant.

It was the haiku, "This dewdrop world is a dewdrop world, and yet, and yet." I thought this was unacceptable. However, I didn't want to say it outright and make Kappore feel utterly ashamed. I said, "I think they are all well-made, but if you replaced this last haiku with another, it might be even better. Just my amateur opinion."

"Is that so?" Kappore pouted, looking dissatisfied. "I thought that haiku was the best." Well, it should be good. It's a famous haiku, so much so that even I, an outsider to haiku, know it.

"Good things are certainly good, I suppose," I said, a little bewildered. "Do you understand?" Kappore said, emboldened. "I believe my sincere feelings for the current nation of Japan are woven into this haiku, but don't you understand?" he said, in a tone that slightly scorned me.

"What kind of sincere feelings are they?" I retorted, no longer smiling. "Don't you understand?" Kappore frowned, as if to say, 'You're quite a dim-witted man, aren't you?' and continued, "How do you view Japan's current fate? It's a world of dew, isn't it? That world of dew is a world of dew. Nevertheless, everyone, let's move forward seeking light, shall we? There's no need to be needlessly pessimistic, that's what it comes to mean, doesn't it? This is precisely my sincere feeling for Japan. Do you understand?"

I was inwardly struck with surprise. This haiku was meant to express Issa's sorrow at losing his child, conveying a feeling of resignation to the world of dew, yet an inability to escape that sorrow. To twist its meaning like this was terrible, wasn't it? This might be what Echigo called "a new invention," but it was utterly disrespectful. While I agreed with Kappore's sincerity, it was wrong to steal an ancient poet's haiku and arbitrarily assign it a new meaning for amusement. I also thought that submitting this haiku as Kappore's own work to the office would affect the honor of the "Sakura Room." So, I gathered my courage and stated clearly:

"However, there are similar haikus among those of ancient poets. I don't think you stole it, but to avoid misunderstanding, I believe it would be better to replace it with another haiku."

"There are similar haikus?"

Kappore stared at me with wide eyes. His eyes were so beautiful and clear they made me sigh. I reconsidered, thinking that perhaps such a strange psychology, where one doesn't realize they are stealing, might be possible for the tengu of haiku. He was truly an innocent culprit. Indeed, he suspected nothing.

"Well, that's a troublesome situation. Haiku sometimes has these problems, which is annoying. After all, it's only seventeen syllables. It's not surprising that similar poems can be created." It seemed Kappore was a repeat offender. "Um, well then, I'll erase this," he said, casually drawing a line through the "Dewy World" poem with the pencil he had tucked behind his ear, "and how about this instead?" He quickly wrote something on the small table by my bedside pillow and showed it to me.

"Cosmos blooming, shadows dancing, dry matting."

"No, thank you," I said with relief. I felt at ease now, knowing that it wasn't a stolen haiku, no matter how poorly written. "How about changing it to 'of cosmos' while you're at it?" I added, my relief making me say something unnecessary.

"'Shadows of cosmos dance on the dry mat,' is that it? I see, the scene becomes clearer. You're clever," he said, patting me on the back. "You're full of surprises."

I blushed.

"Don't flatter me," I said, feeling uneasy. "Perhaps 'Cosmos blooming' is better. I don't understand anything about haiku. I just thought that 'of the cosmos' might be easier for us to understand."

My inner voice was screaming, "What does it matter either way?"

However, Kappore seemed to respect me, and earnestly asked me to continue advising him on haiku, a request that didn't sound entirely like flattery. Then, in high spirits, he walked back to his bed, lightly swaying his hips on tiptoes as usual. I watched him go, feeling utterly defeated. I thought that being a haiku advisor would be even more troublesome than a tut-tut song with complaints. Unable to settle down, and feeling at a loss, I thought,

"Something terrible has happened," and inadvertently grumbled towards Echigo. Even the new man, impressive as he was, seemed to be stumped by Kappore's haiku.

Echigo-jishi nodded heavily in silence.

However, the story didn't end there. An even more astonishing truth came to light.

During this morning's eight o'clock friction time, Ma-bo was assigned to Kappore's turn, and she was surprised to hear Kappore whisper to her,

"Ma-bo, that cosmos haiku of yours, it's not bad, but be careful. 'Cosmos ya' is no good, it should be 'cosmos no'."

I was surprised. That was Ma-bo's haiku.